Previously Unseen Footage
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Ghostfacers missing scenes: Even after all this time, they can still surprise each other.


_Inspired in large part by Cathy and some great late-night MW conversations..._

**Previously Unseen Footage**  
K Hanna Korossy

"We could just ask them not to share the tape with anyone."

"Hmm."

Sam glanced over at his brother. "No, you're right, like that's gonna work." He chewed his lip. "We could break in tonight and steal it."

"Uh-huh." Dean's back was to him, his shoulders flexing as he worked.

Sam shrugged. "Assuming we find every single copy in the place." He sighed, rubbed the back of his head. "We could burn the place down?" he offered, half-joking.

"Okay," Dean said noncommittally.

Sam frowned at him. Dean was usually an avid fan of arson. "Dude, what are you working on?"

"Something," came the maddening reply.

Sam unfolded the leg bent under him and rose, wincing a little as he did. The bruises Daggett had left felt like they went bone-deep; the guy had been strong for a ghost. Sam stalked forward. "You've been working on that 'something' all morning."

Which wasn't strictly true. Dean had gone out while Sam had soaked his aching body in the tub, coming back with a few nondescript paper bags and something bulky wrapped in newspaper. _Then _he'd sat down and worked on whatever it was the rest of the morning, ignoring Sam while he tried to brainstorm them out of their latest dilemma. Hey, at least one of them had to worry about this. Ever since the Morton House had come up, Dean hadn't been listening to a word he said.

Dean's shoulders hunched as Sam got closer, sheltering from his sight what was spread on the table. Sam caught a glimpse of metal and…wire?…then backed away at Dean's annoyed, "Go play somewhere else, Sammy." Déjà vu to a million scenes from their childhood.

Sam huffed and took a step back to drop onto the edge of the bed. "Could you just maybe worry about this for one second, Dean, before Ed and Harry go live with their show and out us as being _not dead_?"

"I am," Dean said neutrally. "Just…" He twisted something, then sat back in triumph. The grin he gave Sam as he turned around was sheer joy. "Had to finish this first."

Sam cast a skeptical eye over the shiny, wire-wrapped contraption. "Yeah, and…?"

Dean's smile dimmed, half exasperation, half disappointment. "Oh, that's right, I forgot Shop was the one thing you didn't get straight As in. It's an electromagnet, doofus."

It took a second until that sunk in, but then Sam didn't even try to hide his astonishment as he scanned the device again. It did look like… "You're joking," he blurted.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Uh, no. Turn this thing on, and every piece of electronics they have is gonna be wiped clean."

Sam stared at it. Why he was even surprised, he didn't know; Dean had built more from less before. Like every piece of detection equipment they owned. Looking up at his brother revealed even less of a surprise: Dean's pleasure had faded fast, replaced by growing embarrassment. Another moment, and he'd be blowing off both Sam and his wounded pride.

Sam quickly nodded. "That'll work," he said with a smile. "Not bad, bro."

Dean perked up. While trying to give the impression he could care less. It was pretty cool, actually, being able to have that effect on him.

But Sam wondered not for the first time if he would've been the "smart" Winchester brother in different circumstances.

00000

The footage so far had been laughable, especially as the "Ghostfacers" set up camp and pretended they knew what they were doing. Dean had fought the twitching of his lips, exchanging a few glances with Sam as they shared the joke. Somehow, he kinda doubted the film would ever make it to national TV and was almost sorry they had to destroy it.

And then Sam disappeared, and the camera cut to Dean's little brother tied up in the basement.

_"You've gotta keep listening to my voice, okay? I'm right here."_

Dean watched tensely as the part he hadn't seen before played out in front of him: Sam tied up and bloody, worried only about his fellow prisoner.

_"Stay awake. Corbett, stay with me."_ On screen, Sam's face was folding, anguished at knowing what was about to happen and being unable to stop it, trying to make sure Corbett at least knew he wasn't alone. _"Stay with me, you got it? I'm right here, hey."_

Dean had heard those words addressed to him a few times, too.

Sam's face was white with fear, eyes terrified, but his voice radiated pure fury as the mad ghost pressed up behind Corbett. _"Don't. Don't. No! Corbett!"_

The kid died without a sound except for Sam's cries. And then Daggett turned toward Sam.

"_Get away from me." _Sam was panting in fear.

"_This won't hurt. It's okay. It's okay. Relax. Relax."_

It was stupid, Sam was sitting safe next to him, but Dean's fists still curled in impotent rage to go help.

"_I've been waiting for some new friends. I get lonely__. But you're coming to my party, aren't you? You'll stay a good long time...__"_

Sam's foot shuffled against his, and Dean started, giving his brother a half-glance before returning his attention to the screen. Yeah, yeah, message received.

Onscreen, Sam struggled against his bonds, breathing hard, panicked. But he didn't break down, didn't beg. Not for himself.

It set Dean's teeth on edge. Turned his stomach. Tightened his grip on the chair until it hurt.

And made him warmly, fiercely proud.

He'd seen his brother in just about every shade possible, but that was when Dean was there to ease the fear and share the anger. This raw courage when Sam was alone and scared was something else.

Dean looked over and saw his brother's tongue dart out, licking dry lips. Reliving this couldn't be any picnic for him, either. He nudged Sam in the side, watched the wide eyes dart over to his.

"Nice hat."

Sam sputtered a tiny laugh, just between them.

There. _That _was the brother Dean knew.

00000

It was kind of strange watching it from the other side. He remembered the moment of cold and disorientation. Standing with the others one minute, the next, shaking his aching head back into service, blinking into darkness and swallowing fear. It felt like he hadn't started breathing again until Dean was untying him.

On the TV, the picture warped and fuzzed, then blinked clear again. To the others, he'd literally just vanished.

It took Dean about two seconds to notice.

The first two questioning _Sams_ quickly settled into a chill in Dean's face as he found the dropped flashlight. The _"Sam!"_ that followed was pure worry.

Sam hadn't heard a sound when he'd been in the bomb shelter, just Corbett's whimpering breaths and the shuffle of Daggett's feet and that maddening record player. It figured they were still in the house, but Sam had no idea where, if anybody would find them ever, let alone in time. He certainly hadn't heard Dean yelling.

"_Sammy! Sammy!" _

He'd heard that call at a distance so many times before when Dean was looking for him, coming to help him. It provoked an instinctive rush of endorphins even now, removed from the scene by a day and a few dozen miles. By the time Dean would find Sam, though, his panic would be wiped away, only reassurance and relief visible. Sam couldn't help wonder if the others had seen the rawness in Dean's face before he'd found Sam, heard the desperation in his voice. He kinda doubted it.

"_Sam!"_

Dean had marched back into Daggett's room on the screen and was pawing through his stuff, putting the pieces together. Sam might've been their walking encyclopedia, but few people figured out a puzzle as fast as Dean. It was less than a minute before Sam saw the light go on and Dean led the way down to the basement.

Where Dean was the one who heard the music. Figured he would notice music.

Seconds later, he was pushing the cabinet aside like it was nothing and storming into the shelter with a cry of _"Sam!"_

Memory dovetailed with image now, the internal with the external. The kiss of cold steel against the back of his neck, the pound of his heart in his chest, the mindless panic of knowing he was about to die and being unable to do a thing about it. And then Dean's yell, the sound of the shotgun, his brother's hands brushing his skin as he untied Sam. The quiet "You all right?" that became "You're all right" at Sam's continued agitation, unheard by the camera but powerful in Sam's memory. Dean helping him up, supporting him while he found his balance.

Expression showing only reassurance and relief, as if there'd never been any doubt he would find Sam.

"Kinda waited until the last minute there, man," Sam said under his breath as he watched the rescue unfold.

"You're welcome, bitch," Dean muttered back.

Sam grinned. Just another form of _Sammy!_ and a white face and eyes wide with worry.

00000

They'd talked about it as the Ghostfacers solemnly collected Corbett.

"They might run into something else they can't handle."

"So? You wanna keep bailing them out? Sooner or later, they gotta learn, Sam."

"Well, I don't think they're gonna be rushing into any more haunted houses anytime soon, but just in case, they should know who to call."

"Yeah," Dean said stonily, "the Ghostbusters."

Sam looked toward the little knot of amateurs, and Dean could feel his frown. "You really don't want me to give them our number?"

"I didn't say that," Dean protested, then paused, considering what he _was_ saying. He had two months left, and then, barring one of Sam's less-and-less likely last-minute miracles, his kid brother was on his own. There'd be no one there to figure out bomb shelters and scratchy records next time.

But just because family would be gone didn't mean friends couldn't step in. In fact, Dean was counting on it. And friends came in all forms, even the dweeby, hapless, wannabe kinds.

He rolled his tongue over his lips, canted his head. "I'm just saying, if you start getting calls in the middle of the night asking for Ima Weiner, don't come crying to me for sympathy."

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled out his notebook, jotting down his name and number.

Dean often did that after a case, if there was someone he thought needed it. Sometimes it was Bobby or Ellen or somebody else's number he gave out, someone who wouldn't think the caller was crazy and could help. But traumatized kids, people who touched him, and, okay, the occasional hot helpless chick, got his number. He'd just hardly ever seen Sam do the same.

Ed ended up taking the number gratefully. And it was only as they were driving off that Dean let himself smile. Maybe you _could_ teach an old geek new tricks.

And maybe Sam would eventually let other people in when—if—Dean was gone, too.

**The End**


End file.
